


Every Night

by shutupfour



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Romance, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupfour/pseuds/shutupfour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post game. Had a go at some lavellan/solas angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Night

Every night, she looks in the mirror.

Every night, she gazes upon her face.

Every night, she sees something missing; what was is no longer.

Every night, she is reminded. 

Every night, she is reminded of the time she spent with him. 

Every night, her thoughts take her back to when he was with her. She thinks of their walks under the stars, when he would tell her about the different constellations. She thinks of how even though she knew the constellations from growing up under them, she would pretend she didn’t so she could hear him speak a few more lines in his silken tones. 

Every night, she recalls his compassion for her. How he would soothe her and talk her down when she felt she couldn’t handle the weight of her duties. How he would pick just the right words every time. How he would tell her what she needed to hear. How he would care for her when the magic flowing from her hand came on too strongly. 

Every night, the feel of his hands on her sides are thrown into her thoughts. How they held her so surely and gently and how by just the slightest of his touches, she would melt into him. 

Every night, it brings a smile to her face when she thinks of how romantic he was. How eager he was to dance with her at the Winter Palace, how he called her ‘his heart’, and how he always made her feel like the most beautiful person alive. His words, “you have a rare and marvelous spirit”, resonate within her, and carry with it melancholy tones. 

Every night, she tries not to cry when she pictures his face; how his eyes crease at the edges when he smiles, how his ice blue gaze would still her heart, how his angled jaw brought his features to a perfect point. She would give anything to hold it in her hands again.

Every night, she imagines feeling his lips on hers, soft and confident, breath mingling, his hands on her waist and through her hair. She remembers the intoxicating feeling of his kisses, the familiar smell of his shirt, clutching it to keep a piece of herself in the real world, so that she doesn’t completely lose herself in him, even though she would want nothing more than to forget the world of problems and responsibilities she finds herself in.

Every night, her heart warms imagining his voice, his laugh, how genuine they are. His laugh would light up her world, a beacon for hope where there was none for her. His voice would speak intelligently and elegantly, carrying vibrations so sweet and mellifluous it was all she wanted to hear at times.

Every night, she remembers the stories he would tell her of worlds unknown to the one she lives in. She remembers how excited she would be to hear more of his wanderings in the fade, how vividly he would speak of the ruins and spirits, how happy talking about such things made him.

Every night, she thanks her Gods for giving her the privilege to have been in his company, to have gotten to hear his words and feel his touch and taste his lips. She also prays to them that he return to her. 

Every night, she replays the evening by the lake in her head. She silently repeats all of what happened, going over what she might have said so that things might have turned out differently, what she might have done to show him how much she wanted him to stay.

Every night, she thinks that maybe tonight will be the night that he comes walking in through her door, and tells her that he loves her and that he won’t ever leave her side again. That tonight will be the night she goes to sleep warmed by his body, that she’ll wake up and he’ll be creeping into the sheets beside her.

Every night, even though she shouldn’t and even though he told her she deserves better, she whispers, “I love you,”

Every night, she goes to sleep, wondering what she did wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> i love a good anaphora :)


End file.
